Middle Fingers - Try Saying 'Alohomora' to a Sherlock-ed Fan
by cleury
Summary: [For The Sherlock Competition] Part 1 Prompt 3. Drabble. Post-war, Hermione and Draco have to work together towards a common goal. Hermione has an ugly middle finger and she's not afraid of showing it.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

**Written for The Sherlock Competition: "I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock gets straight to the point, leaving John a tad overwhelmed occasionally – Write about someone asking someone else out; alternatively, write about Hermione Granger. **

* * *

_(Middle Fingers)_

He approached her, completely disgusted with the idea of working with the woman in front of him. "Granger," he said curtly.

Hermione looked up from her papers and stared at Draco in shock. "Malfoy, you're—"

"Your new partner. Let's finish this as quickly as possible."

"You're here because?" she asked as she watched him push away a bookshelf with a swish of his wand. He waved in a table.

For the first time in a long while, Hermione took a good look of Draco's face. His face had become gaunt and his cheeks sunk in. The pale cadaverousness of his complexion juxtaposed the gray smudges under his eyes. Hermione didn't need to be a Healer to know Draco had been suffering from insomnia. Even his posture and once-commanding timbre of his voice had been haggard by his nightly terrors. Only one feature on his face remained alert.

His eyes.

Somehow the weariness that devoured his whole body left the fire in his eyes. They shone with determination. As if a single idea possessed him—so that he may not rest until it had been completed.

"Why are you helping me? I never thought you'd be the type to want to get rid of—"

"When all the people you ever cared about are in _there_ with those _things_, what would you do? Look Granger, I don't want to work with you either. Let's set some ground rules. I have very strict principles which I want you to adhere to. No talking to me. No—"

Hermione flicked her wand in his direction and a piece of paper smacked Draco right in the face. She glared at him. "I have a principle too. Every time you say something absurd, I'll show you this." Hermione gave Draco the middle finger.

Draco scowled when he saw Hermione's rude gesture. He peeled the piece of paper of his face.

Then something occurred to him and he smirked. It'd been some time since someone properly interacted with him and he quite enjoyed it. Since the war, he'd been either coddled or avoided. "You have one ugly middle finger," he said, leaning his head closer to inspect Hermione's extended digit.

"When I punched you hard on the nose in Third Year, it swelled up and never went back down to its normal size," explained Hermione with a grin. "I'm quite proud of it, really."

"Bet you are."

* * *

Over the next few months, Hermione's finger only grew uglier as she punched Draco. Sometimes it was for insulting her hair and sometimes it was for suggesting that she might be growing a bit plump from all the sitting they were doing.

But to be fair, Hermione noticed as Draco napped on his desk, his was growing uglier too. She pulled her chair closer and brushed the end of his middle finger. Compared to his left one, it was no longer as smooth and straight.

He wrote a lot.

Together they penned many essays, theorizing how to stop Dementors from multiplying. Their efforts gave him an angry and red writer's blister. It hardened and turned into a callus over time.

But the ugliness paid off.

Having a second person who could actually keep up and assist her with the research pulled them ahead of schedule. Today, they would see the fruits of their efforts. Having finally reached a consensus with the other researchers, Hermione and Draco would test out their theory in a few hours.

Draco stirred from his nap and opened his eyes. He smiled when he felt Hermione's hand brushed over his. "What time is it?"

"Time to get going. The port-key opens in a few minutes."

Draco nodded and stared out of the window. His eyes focused on the grey speck into the distance. Azkaban.

"You afraid?" she asked, knowing his answer.

"Never," he replied, lying. He propped his elbow onto the table and rested the side of his face on his knuckles. Hermione leaned and brushed a stray lock of hair from Draco's face.

"It's all right," she said.

"But what if it doesn't work? What if the spells and conditions have no effect on the Dementors?" said Draco in a rush. "What if what we found only worked in theory and not in real life?"

Hermione held up her middle finger to Draco. He frowned. "What I'm saying is not absurd."

"And how many times have you been proven wrong whenever I've flipped you the bird?"

Draco shook his head. "I just have a bad feeling on this one."

"Like how you had a bad feeling on how it would hinder our work if we started dating?"

Draco's expression softened. "Maybe."

"Really?" asked Hermione raising her eyebrow.

Draco grasped Hermione's hands in his, drawing them close to his person. "Fine, it might be the same."

The port-key started to glow as it activated.

"Let's go."

* * *

**Thought of this when I was compared my right middle finger with my ugly-as left one (I'm left-handed.) Someone kicked me while I was sparring in karate and bent my finger back so it never went back down to its normal size... and I write so much I have a pretty intense writer's callus too.**

**Hope you enjoyed this. :)**


End file.
